


Slipping

by carolion



Series: High School AU [2]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cook felt the world spin around him, and then he was leaning over a trash can, heaving and crying, throwing up all the things he didn't say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping

They break up almost two years later.

Junior year had been rough on Archie, busy with classes and choir and his dad, pressuring him about college and scholarships and then this new job at the ice cream parlor he had. Cook's sophomore year at university was a little smoother, but he and Andy and Neal had this band, and they were playing gigs and there were a lot of parties that just sort of happened, and he didn't have time to call Archie to wish him goodnight, and he spent most of his Saturdays in a dark bathroom, throwing up, instead of driving to see his high school boyfriend. Still, Cook hadn't thought it was that bad until he drove in for a three day weekend to surprise Archie, and the shit hit the fan.

"You can't just show up and expect me to be free, without even calling, without even telling me!" Archie was yelling. Cook had never seen the boy raise his voice during their whole relationship. Even when he was really mad, it was like a quiet burn, where he got all silent and tight-lipped. But Archie was red-faced and shaking, and Cook automatically reached out to tug his boyfriend closer. Archie jerked away - Cook flinched.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me! I guess I was wrong," Cook hurled back, feeling stung and lashing out in self-defense. Archie's face fell for a moment, and Cook suddenly wanted to hug him and whisper his apologies, wanted to kiss the sadness from his face and hold him tight and tell them they would get through this. But then the expression disappeared, replaced by anger again.

"I'm sick of always waiting for you, Cook! I never know when we're going to see each other, or get to go out together, and I'm sick of worrying about you, wondering if you got home safely or not, not knowing until you're sober enough to call to say you can't visit."

Cook didn't even realize he'd moved until he had Archie by the wrist and had him pressed up against the wall. "You're not my mother, Archuleta," he growled, a sick guilt curling in his stomach. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

Archie snorted sarcastically, turning his face away. Cook grabbed his chin and turned him back, almost stepping back in shock when he saw the fierce defiance in those gentle eyes. "Get off me," Archie demanded, jerking his wrist free and sliding away. Cook let him, the sinking weight in his stomach getting heavier and heavier. His chest ached, and his throat started closing up, too crammed full of things he wanted to say.

"Cook," Archie said, and his voice was very small. "You don't have time for me anymore." Cook wanted to protest; he wanted to sink to his knees and bury his face in Archie's soft t-shirt, arms wrapped around his waist and holding him close. He wanted to apologize, wanted to promise he'd do better, that he'd quit everything, everything if only Archie would just love him back. (Because the one thing he wanted to say was 'I love you, I love you, I love you, I'll never love anyone like I love you' but the words won't come.)

He stood there like an idiot as Archie stared at his shoes and kept talking. _(Stop talking Archie, please, look at me, please, don't give up.)_

"I - I think we should see other people." It was like getting punched in the stomach. "You were my first serious boyfriend, and, and I love you, but we're both changing and - and I don't think I'm what you want anymore." Archie looked miserable, almost as miserable as Cook felt. For some reason his voice still wasn't working. He just stared, feeling hollowed out and empty. He felt his stomach heave sickly, and suddenly he was afraid he was going to throw up, but Archie was _still_ talking.

"I just can't do this anymore Cook," Archie said, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, like he was trying to focus. "I'm sorry." The boy (not really a boy, seventeen years old) tried to smile but it twisted and he looked like he was going to cry. He backed away slowly, then just turned and left. No hug, no goodbye kiss, no more words. Just - gone.

Cook felt the world spin around him, and then he was leaning over a trash can, heaving and crying, throwing up all the things he didn't say.

\--

It really sucked that Archie had been right, too. Well, not exactly right, but back when Cook had been trying to hard to get the little freshman to go out on a date with him, all those things he'd said about getting left behind or forgotten - well it wasn't true, but it was _right_ , if that made sense. (Only it was Archie who was the one to break his heart, not the other way around, and Cook felt like throwing up again.) He felt like an idiot. He should have tried harder, should have done one million and one things to keep the boy close to him, should have showed him every day how much he meant to Cook. But he hadn't and now Archie was - Archie wasn't his any more. Cook hated that. Cook hated the idea that he didn't have the right to sling his arm around Archie's shoulders and pull him close, right to that sweet spot where Archie fit perfectly next to his side. He hated that he couldn't wrestle Archie to the bed, kiss him breathless and stroke his hands along that smooth skin. Then he had a flash of someone else getting to do all of that, and Cook had to turn over in his bed to keep from slamming his fist into the wall.

Michael came by a little later. They went to different colleges, so they weren't as close anymore, but Mike was still one of Cook's best friends, and always would be. And Mike understood. Mike understood this sick, empty feeling inside, the overwhelming loss and love and yearning because Mike went through it too. (He and Carly had dated for a year before breaking up - it'd been four months since then and Mike still looked wrecked when anyone mentioned the spunky Irish girl.)

"Hey," Mike said, and sat down in Cook's dark bedroom, on his messy bed. He didn't try to turn on the lights or anything, which Cook appreciated. He didn't want to crawl out from underneath the covers, didn't want to see the room where he and Archie had spent so much time. (It was hard enough laying in his bed, the bed where Archie had clung to him and kissed him, shaking and trembling as Cook sank into him, taking him apart and putting him back together again.)

"I don't want this," Cook croaked, and then had to bite his lip. Crying was totally girly and stupid and he'd already done enough of it in the last twelve hours. Mike just sighed and patted the lump where Cook was huddled.

"I know buddy," his friend soothed, and then stayed quiet, just offering his companionship. Cook squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"I'm in love with him," Cook choked out, and God his chest hurt, hurt worse than anything in his entire life. (Archie didn't love him back, not anymore, how could he? How could he love him as much as Cook loved him, and want to be apart?) "Did I screw up? Mikey, is this my fault?" He sat up - bad idea - and the room spun, but he could see Michael's face, all pity and consolation.

"Maybe a little bit," the Australian hedged, and Cook wanted to punch himself immediately. "No one said it was going to be easy," he continued, but all Cook could think about was how that sounded kind of like a lyric of a song, and how Archie most definitely would have started singing it, and he missed him all over again. He groaned.

"What am I going to do?" Cook asked, because this was not like two years ago. He couldn't just bring a boom box to Archie's house and play every sad love song he could. He couldn't get down on his knees and swear to be better this time. It wasn't going to be enough.

Michael gave him a funny look. "You either let him go and get over him," Cook closed his eyes, "or you win him back. But you'd better make the right decision David, because he deserves a chance, okay? He deserves to be happy. And he can't be happy if you aren't going to make him happy."

It hurt to hear one of his best friend's say that to him, but he knew he was right. He'd taken Archie for granted. He'd used him, whenever it was convenient for him, and he hadn't even bothered to think that maybe it had been tearing Archie apart. It was selfish. But nothing was more important than having that kid in his life, hearing his laugh and teaching him to play guitar, making (terrible) brownies together and getting the chocolate all over each other, sliding their hands over each other and trading slow, chaste kisses in between whispered conversation. With a dull ache Cook realized he'd expected to be with Archie forever, like, beyond high school, beyond college - he couldn't see his future without the perky boy next to his side. And that was - that was something big.

"I know," Cook said, and fell over with a sigh. Let him go or win him back. Cook had no idea what to do.

\---

Cook decided to give Archie some space. He went back to the campus a day earlier, if only to get away from all the reminders of their relationship, and buried himself in his work. He played guitar until his fingers were sore and cramping, writing music that no one would like (or even listen to, if he had his way) and did homework assignments way before they were due. He avoided people, except for people he couldn't avoid, like Neal, who consistently sprawled over Cook's bed and took up an obnoxious amount of space. Neal was not helping.

"Dude, just call him. You are miserable and it's killing my buzz." Cook kind of wanted to take the beer in his hands and pour it on Neal's head, but that wouldn't help the situation. "I don't know why you're torturing yourself. So you guys had a fight, big deal, you've had fights before."

Cook stared at him incredulously. "Did you miss the memo where we broke up? That's not 'just a fight', Neal. He wants to move on. He wants to see other people. Do you know what kind of an asshole I'd be if I just called him up out of nowhere?"

"The kind of asshole that's stupidly in love with a high school student?" Neal muttered under his breath, and then easily blocked the shoe flung in his direction. "Listen, shit like this happens, okay? But it's dumb. You two are like, forever in love, and it's sickening and gross and I don't want to hear you talk about it, but I also don't want to see you mope about it, so will you just call him already? Space is only going to make him think that you want to stay broken up. You don't, do you?"

Cook shook his head dumbly.

"Just fucking call him." Neal sighed and got up, walking to the bathroom. "And don't just hang up like a pussy!" He called as he slammed the door, and Cook groaned to himself. This was such a bad idea.

\--

He didn't call him.

It wasn't that he was a pussy (he _wasn't!_ ), it just felt weird to try and contact Archie when the boy so clearly wanted his space. He just - he didn't want to give up on them yet, _ever_ , but if Archie needed room to breathe, then Cook was going to give it to him. He was done being the inconsiderate boyfriend, but giving Archie time was _hard_ because all he wanted to do was take him in his arms and hold him tight. Every once and a while he thought about if Archie didn't - if he never came back to Cook, if they stayed broken up, if this was _the end_ , but it made him sick with a cold terror.

He did eventually have to go home though. The semester wrapped up, he finished his finals, and was soon collapsing into his own bed, face down on the fresh sheets his mom had put on his bed. It was weird to be here and not sitting with Archie, helping him study for his own finals, preparing for various end-of-the-year parties, or just hanging out together and reminiscing about how the year went, what goals they would set for the future. He felt hollow, like someone had taken an ice scream scoop and scraped his heart out (which was probably one of the more pathetic things he’d thought about himself in the past few weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care). He couldn’t hide in his room forever, and he couldn’t just avoid seeing Archie either, not when Andrew had forced him into coming to the stupid graduation party a bunch of the seniors (who Cook was actually friends with) were throwing.

He’d half hoped Archie wouldn’t be there, too intimidated by the prospect of going to a party alone (without Cook by his side to hold his hand) to show up, but Brooke was graduating this year and Brooke was one of Archie’s closest friends, so of course he was there.

Even though Andrew had been the one to make him come to the party, he still felt weirdly like his younger brother’s chaperone, and wanted to bitch at him for splitting the second they got there. “Whatever happened to ‘we’re in this together, man’?” He said grumpily, to no one in particular, and tried not to look too out of place. There were other siblings here, he knew, but it still felt like he stood out awkwardly, like everyone knew that he didn’t belong here.

Archie was popular. He was cute, and polite, and nice, and people just seemed to love him. There was always small group surrounding him, and even if Archie wasn’t necessarily the center of attention he was never really left out. Cook hadn’t minded when they’d been in school together, because he’d just dragged his boyfriend off with a cheerful wave, using his big, bad senior status to intimidate the flock of girls who seemed magnetically attached to Archie. And it had been good to know that, when Cook left for college, Archie wouldn’t be left alone during the school hours. So Cook expected to see his (ex) boyfriend in his usual group of friends, and he fully expected to be frigidly ignored.

He was right about being ignored. Everyone knew who he was, and everyone clearly blamed him for the break up, which was understandable he guessed. He was the villain here, and he was okay with that. He just hoped – he just hoped he could turn into the dashing hero by the end of the story. (And, preferably, ride off into the sunset with Archie in his arms, because that would be the happily ever after he really, really needed.)

But when he finally found Archie (of course he was looking for Archie, any idea that he had come here to _avoid_ Archie was ludicrous), the high schooler wasn’t in his usual gaggle of friends. He had his fingers loosely curled around a half-drunk water bottle, and he was leaning up against one of the portable buildings, his head tipped back and his face quiet and contemplative. Cook’s heart sped up just looking at him, and he zeroed in, gathering the courage to go over and talk to him, apologize, _win him back_ somehow.

He was so focused on the younger man that he didn’t even notice the other person with Archie, the older guy who was completely unfamiliar. Cook stopped in his tracks and stared. The guy was smiling brightly and touching Archie’s elbow fleetingly, the touch moving from elbow to arm to shoulder, just brief presses of his fingers to Archie’s skin, but it still made Cook clench his jaw. He recognized that kind of move. It was designed to draw Archie’s attention back to him, designed to flash that neon sign “I’m interested in you!” without scaring the boy off. Cook knew this because he did the exact same thing. (Of course, he’d had to graduate to blatant flirting and propositions, since Archie wasn’t really good with the social cues thing…)

Cook’s vision went kind of red and hazy and he had this weirdly primal reaction, like he should go over there and smash his fist into the guy’s jaw or something, because that was – that was _not okay_. But he managed to choke it down because, well, he caught sight of Archie’s face. He was smiling widely, nodding a little, and Cook wondered if that look on his face was polite interest or genuine attraction, because he couldn’t stand here and- he couldn’t watch this happen, couldn’t watch Archie _get over him_ right in _front_ of him. The bottom of his stomach dropped out, and he lunged forward, barreling towards the pair until he had a hand wrapped tightly around Archie’s bicep, dragging him away.

“We need to talk,” he said lowly, barely sparing the other guy a glance, even though mystery-dude was protesting already. He brushed past him, bumping him maybe a little too hard, but he was working on auto-pilot right now, and his jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it, and all he wanted to do was deck the guy but he _couldn’t_ , this was all he could do.

“Cook! Oh my gosh, _stop!_ ” Archie said, trying to yank free, but Cook’s grip was firm. “You’re being –“

Cook pulled Archie into one of the many little alcoves that their high school had on campus, little nooks in the folds of the architecture. Archie stopped talking, his face carefully blank. Cook hated that look, the shuttered, hidden expression that meant Archie was holding back. Archie shouldn’t ever hold back.

“Who was that?” Cook asked, a little sharper than he meant to. But he was _sick_ of that look, sick of seeing Archie compose himself. He wanted to see the raw emotion scrawled on his (ex) boyfriend’s face, the way he wore his heart on his sleeves. It had the desired effect.

Archie’s eyes narrowed dangerously and a muscle twitched tightly in his cheek. “What does it matter?” He snapped back, petulantly crossing his arms.

 _”Who was it_.” It wasn’t even a question any more, and Cook had Archie backed up into the corner, using his body to crowd the boy. Archie’s face went from childish and defiant to pissed off, and it made Cook _happy_.

“Logan,” Archie replied shortly, looking Cook square in the eye. “He’s Patricia’s older brother and he happened to be in town. He liked my – he liked my necklace.” Cook’s eyes immediately dropped to the younger boy’s throat, where Archie’s hand was twining around the feather pendant that Cook had given him for their first anniversary. Cook’s throat closed up, and all the bitter jealousy left him in a whoosh, deflating him. He fell forward, one arm curling around Archie’s body, holding him carefully as his forehead rested gently against Archie’s. He heard Archie’s breath catch, and he closed his eyes carefully.

“I’m sorry,” Cook mumbled against the bridge of Archie’s nose.

“Cook-“ Archie said, but Cook didn’t give him a chance. He thought about Spanish class and that cute, weird boy who didn’t really fit in but was totally awesome anyway, and he thought about how Archie licked his lips nervously, and he thought about getting turned down _three times_ before showing up with a boom box and a promise, and he thought about how he swore he wouldn’t break that promise. He remembered every moment in between that first date and now, all of the touches and midnight conversations, arguing about music or movies, sharing their anxieties, baring their souls because it was _okay_ , because they knew each other better than anyone else ever would.

He tipped Archie’s head back and kissed him, his mouth surging against Archie’s, his fingers cradling the boy’s head gently as the desperation poured out of him. It was familiar and hot and it felt like home, and Cook felt relief wash over him, his whole body unwinding as the tension melted. He pulled his mouth away before Archie could push him away.

“I’m in love with you,” Cook panted, and kissed him again brutally, bruising his mouth. “I can’t _not_ be in love with you. I can’t stand by and get over you. I can’t watch you get over _me_. This,” he reached down and tangled their hands together, pulling their clasped hands up in between their chests, pressed tight, “this is everything. And I can’t walk away from you.” He looked into Archie’s eyes bravely, afraid of what he’d find there. His heart was in throat, and he was terrified that he’d be shoved away, terrified that this was slipping through his fingers and he wasn’t going to be able to hold on.

“Shut up, shut up, I love you too, please, I just –“ Archie was trembling, his lower lip quivering and Cook felt tears spring to eyes because, _yes oh God Archie was –_ “I’m so stupid about you, I think about you all the time, and I hate, I hate not being with you. That’s why- Cook that’s why I thought we should... But I was wrong, okay? I was _wrong_ , just, shut up, I love you.”

Cook laughed wetly and clung to his boyfriend, shaking with relief. Suddenly, instead of all the past moments they'd shared, he could see their future unfolding in front of him, and it filled him with hope. Archie buried his face into Cook's neck, but Cook tilted his chin up and kissed him again, and again, and again, ready and willing to love David Archuleta for the rest of his life.


End file.
